Like An Open Book pilot
by JackpotGirl
Summary: this is a pilot for a story, if people are intrested in the story, I'll keep writing. Reid finds himself in a very special prison, held by a maniac but he is not alone. Will he be able to save both Ashley's and his own life?


**Okay, so this is my pilot, I had this story in my head and I wanted to see if anyone cared to read it. So tell me...if I get at least five reviews/story alerts I will continue writing, if not, I consider the project failed.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own criminal Minds**

**--set mid season 5--**

–

**Like An Open Book**

**Chapter One**

The throbbing pain, radiating from the open wound on his head was the thing that brought Dr. Spencer Reid back to conscience. The last thing he remembered was a whiff of air crossing his ears, turning around and then there was just pain. Something very solid had hit him and had him passing out on the spot.

He was slowly coming back from the dull blankness that had swallowed up his brain before and he started processing his surroundings based on smell and returning hearing, his eyes were still closed. It felt like his head was beating with pain, as if is his brain was thumping against his skullcap, he had the irrational feeling that his eyes would fall out from the pressure behind them. It hurt a lot.

The air was arid, he was breathing in cold air that pierced his throat and in a sudden flashback he was panicked.

_Is Tobias here?_ No, no...Tobias was dead. He was gone, Tobias, or better, his alter-ego, couldn't hurt him any more.

But still...he wondered if he'd been drugged but it didn't feel like it, his senses where sharp and clear; he could feel the thick, dry air submerging him, pushing him down to the cold ground he sat at. His head still hurt and he also felt that almost a bit too distinct.

It smelled of...what was it? He couldn't match the smell to anything common but...his childhood?! Was it that? The smell brought back images, images of hot sunny days and humid air, so different to the air around him now but the smell...the smell was just the same.

Humid in the days, arid during the nights...hot and cold. The desert.

It hit about the same second he had started to wonder about the conditions, evidently his brain was working properly, apparently the only thing in his body that couldn't be knocked out for very long. Too bad it was only protected by his ever so weak body.

So he was in the desert. Of course. _He _had taken him to his safe place. Funny to think of that idiom to describe it, he thought to himself, after all this was probably the least safe place for Spencer Reid to be at the moment. His current situation told him fool-proof that he'd been exactly right about Thomas Withmore, one of the suspects for ongoing kidnapping and murders of teenage girls in Carlsbad, New Mexico. He'd pointed out the pattern in which the girls disappeared and it led him to Withmore. He went alone because the rest of the team hadn't seemed convinced of his theory and didn't consider it to grant him more than a solo check-up. His memory was coming back to him as quickly as his senses.

He'd been an easy target, walking into Withmore's garden when he didn't open the door and not as alert as he should've been. So, the mess he was in, was solely his fault. You'd think an eidetic memory, 27 years on earth of which five years spent at the BAU of the FBI could teach you to be more careful but quiet obviously it didn't.

The team had been searching for the unsubs hide-out where he hid his victims before killing them but they hadn't considered that he would take on this long of a way. They were expecting him to have a shelter somewhere _in_ or at least near Carlsbad but he must've went far beyond the borders of the town. Spencer could tell because he heard nothing, no car noise, no people, no nothing, there was no sound what so ever but –

He flinched; there was a sound, quiet, low, but it was there undeniably. Someone was breathing. Near him, in the same room. Had he seen him jump at the revelation? Was his abductor watching him sleep? And how had he been so consumed in his own mind that he hadn't heard it before?

"Now we have a party", Reid's heart skipped a few beats for two reasons. First of course the sudden statement and second the fact that it was the voice of a female making it. So it was a woman? Thomas Withmore wasn't the...or, no, it was a female voice and it sounded...rather young. Cathy. It could be Cathy Hicks, the last girl missing. It had to be Cathy. He remembered her picture. Blond curls, a pretty girl – only seventeen. Missing about 32 hours. He'd half expected her to be dead already.

He fought to open his eyes and what he saw then startled him.

It was not so much the dim light, or the scenery; a room, small with three large fully loaded bookshelves next to a bed, no, what startled him was _whom_ he saw, sitting tightly wrapped into a blanket on the bed. He didn't know this girl, it wasn't Cathy. She was a brunette, her face was heart-shaped, not oval as Cathy's and wide cheeks, a pointed nose above small lips. She had a completely different facial structure and she was not as obviously pretty as Cathy, more subtle, more interesting and she looked older, maybe in her twenties. Who was she? They hadn't known about an other missing girls. How could they've not found out about her? Or was she a new victim? How long had he been out of consciousness? Long enough for Thomas to hi-jack another girl?

"Sorry", she said and looked at him, just as wide-eyed, but not in shock, she eyed him curiously "I just didn't expect to ever have company down here"

But this was so off, she was so calm, even cynical, she was too composed to be a new victim. She should be scared senseless, not...ironic, even jokingly.

"Who are you?", he asked because it was the most urgent of the many questions flooding his brain.

"Ashley", she said, her voice still showing no evidence of terror or fear, "I'm sort of part of the furnishing"

"What?", he couldn't make sense of this. Could she be an accomplice? But she was so young and she didn't...she didn't look like the bad girl.

"I've been here for quiet a while", she replied, no muscle in her face moving from it's place.

No he was hooked. So she was a captive? But that didn't match the profile. Withmore only kept the girls for so long it took to rape them and then he killed them. He wasn't the type to keep them locked and definitely not in an own room with a bed.

"But why does he keep you?", he didn't know if she knew what he was talking about but apparently she did.

"Oh, Tommy?...I'm his weird pet", and now she laughed, chuckled really as if this amused her. Had she gone mad? She seemed pretty sane, though.

"No, seriously...he couldn't kill me yet, I know he wanted to, he came down sometimes and I could tell from his face he wanted to get it over with but he couldn't. He never even touched me. Sometimes he just comes down here, stares at me and then leaves. I haven't spoken to him in days, though. I wonder why he hasn't killed me. I think all that saved me was my fast mouth. But I ran out of things to say to him. I thought if I stopped talking he'd kill me, but he hasn't yet, I think that's weird. What's your take on things? By the way, it gets really cold here at night, so if you want a blanket, I have one spare, I could bring it over to you, see I'm chained at my foot but I can still go anywhere in the room, he made the chain long enough. Probably so I can reach the books. They're the only thing that keep me sane, I read all day. He got me all the classics but I have to admit, I prefer the light fiction...romance mostly, I mean...I'm just a girl, you know. I call it my ankle-bracelet...the...my chain, it sometimes hurts when I try to sleep because I twist my leg and I get stuck but I rarely sleep anyway so it's not that bad...I'm sorry, I'm talking too much and I guess you're not up for conversation because you're...well, you're _here_ and that can't be a good thing for you but I haven't talked to another human being other than Wacko-Tommy, who isn't so talkative, for so long, I...I...have a lot to say. But I'mma let you talk now, go ahead, who are you, I'm curious"

Spencer's jaw was still wide open, it had dropped after her second sentence. She was weird but not in an insane way, just...if she was kept here, without contact...she could've been completely crazy by now but somehow she coped, arranged with the situation. It was a little too much to think about and it took him awhile to find his ability to speak again as she was watching him eagerly and sort of impatient.

"I...I'm...my name is Spencer Reid, I...I'm with the FBI Behaviour Analysis Unit and...well...I...I profiled Thomas Withmore...investigating murders...and-"

"-You weren't so lucky with that, that's what I thought, who else would cross his way but police?", she finished his stuttered answer but waited for him to continue.

"Yeah...um...I...I don't understand...how you are here", he said truthfully, it was like everything was erased from his mind. This was too much, even for his so called genius brain. His head still hurt but that was just a dim shadow, barely affecting him. He was probably still in shock but this girl captivated all his attention.

"Spencer, can I call you Spencer, or do you prefer Mr. Reid?", she asked and he just nodded automatically.

"I'm freaking him out. Tommy. I think he's afraid of me", she said.

That made no sense. How would he be afraid of her? He'd killed at least six girls her age with no remorse or hesitation in the last three months.

"But...how?", would she even know, he wondered, "Since when are you here?"

The hint of a smile crossed her features and she nodded at the wall beside the bed, there where scratches, from fingernails supposedly, 63 lines, packs of five. She'd counted the days.

"I might've missed some, sometimes it's hard to tell when a day ends, I usually tell by temperature but sometimes I sleep through periods, when I get too tired from staying up all the time"

"Two months? He kept you here two months? Accommodated?", the question mark in his mind was growing and growing.

"No, at first I was in some sort of a box but I talked my way out of it. Then I didn't see him for a day or so and then he came, put the gun to my head and made me go down here. He said he'd bought all the books for me and that I could sleep here. That was all he said. He wouldn't touch me. I was petrified of course. Some days later I heard someone scream. Another girl. I was too scared to call back. It happened again and again. Never the same voice called out for help. I knew what he was doing. When he came down to give me food I always ranted at him and some day I understood"

"You ranted at him?", Spencer's voice was one whisper of sheer disbelief.

"I told him that he was sick, that it isn't right to kill people, I kept talking because that's what's keeping me safe"

"How?"

"I don't know exactly but I think it's what I know about him. He's so easy to read. He hates himself, he enjoys our fear but it kills him, it's in his eyes. He despises who he is. He isn't capable of love but he's longing for it. He wants to be happy and he thinks these girls can make him happy, make him feel loved, if they surrender to him physically. But of course that doesn't work. He never had a family. Only a sister who hated him"

"How do you know?"

"I don't _know _it, I guessed. He takes those girls, he wants them to love him but they won't so he kills them, so I figured he must choose by some pattern and then I thought he might've had a girlfriend or a sister or a mother that didn't like him much and I tried it on him, first I said something about his mother but he only reacted when I mentioned his sister. He got all pale and left me here. He's afraid of what I know about him. I guess he thinks it's some kind of magic but it's just...a talent. I can read people easily and he is so obvious"

Spencer couldn't believe what he was hearing. She was still alive because she _profiled him_?! He'd let her live so he could analyse him?

"He wants me to explain his actions to himself", she stated as if she'd read his thoughts.

Now that made more sense. But that didn't explain why he was still alive. Of course Spencer could analyse him just as well but he hadn't said a word to him, he hadn't even seen him really, just a scheme; a fading shadow before he had passed out.

"Then why would he keep me?"

"I don't know...I thought of that since he brought you. I woke up from the noise you know. He just put you there and said nothing but 'Go back to sleep' but I didn't, I just pretended and when he was gone I waited for you to wake up, asking myself why he brought you"

"When was that? How long have I been sleeping?"

"About half the night as far as I can say", she answered, "you look quiet sweet asleep"

"Wha-", he tripped when her words reached his brain, her remark seemed so out of place but he was strangely flattered.

"Why do you think he kept me alive, too?", he managed to get out.

"I have two theories", she said, "he either has no idea what to do with you and is trying to figure it out right now or...well...he decided to allow me some company"

"You think he would?", that was a strange theory.

"It's a wild guess and probably it's a bit arrogant for me to think that but...I don't know...he maybe values my sanity a lot more than I think. I might be his way out of hell so he might want to keep me entertained"

He didn't know what to say. It was silent for a while, except for Ashley's steady and calm breathing and his shivers.

"Are you cold?", she asked after a while where he had no idea what to say anymore.

"A bit", he replied curtly. Not even in a frigging cellar, in the hands of a maniac, he was able to ease up around a girl. It was pathetic, he thought.

"How long is your chain?", she asked and it was the first time he cared about exterminating it. It was a heavy one, around his ankle, and it was long, he supposed, long enough to reach every place in the room. She saw it, too.

"Ah, great", she said, "long enough. Can you stand up?"

He tried and noticed that only his forehead was sore but no other part of his body. None the less did his head spin when he attempted to get up and he had to stop his fall by leaning against the wall.

"Come here", she almost ordered and he followed, not completely sure why his steps were hesitant.

Weakly he made his way towards the bed and carefully sat down beside her.

"Hi", she said and smiled before she reached behind her and then put a blanket over his knees.

"Hi", he said automatically.

"Can I ask you a favour?", she asked.

"Er...yes"

"Okay, so...I know I've just met you...but...you maybe can't tell...but I'm pretty messed up and I...well..I think I can trust you so...could you just hold me?", all of the sudden she seemed so vulnerable and all of the injuries her soul had taken from her time in this weird prison showed. There was no way Spencer could have said no to her plea. She let go off her façade now, the strong surface she'd built hid a very scared and very desperate girl underneath. It seemed weird to him that she would reveal this to him so quickly, but obviously she had decided to trust him and he could imagine that she was lacking contact, affection and most of all a feeling of safety hardly enough to not be too suspicious. No wonder she wouldn't sleep until tiredness took its toll on her. She must've been afraid every passing second, that he would come in and do the same thing to her he did to the other girls. The same fear for her life that Reid was feeling at the moment for his but that wasn't important now.

As an answer, he turned his body slightly around to her and opened his arms without thinking about it.

"Thank you so much", she whispered as she sunk into them and cradled her face against his chest, locking her arms tightly around his waist.

Spencer felt his heartbeat fasten and he still had no idea why in this situation of all, he was capable of something like awkwardness, shyness and something that he had to admit to be affectionate feelings. Of course she was a victim and it was his nature to be protective, but right now, he was as good as a victim as she was plus the feelings weren't too much of a protective nature, more...possessive?! Was it that? He felt the need to hug her tighter, to not let her go, to hold this woman and shield her, keep her safe. It was weird, it was too much. He must've still been in shock.

"Ashley?", he said softly.

"Yes?", her voice was barely audible.

"How old are you?"

"I turned nineteen a couple of days ago", a bitter laugh escaped her mouth, "I don't know if my calculation is exact, though"

Nineteen? Wow, she looked older, he wouldn't have considered her a minor and now he felt really bad for the weird feeling that crept up to his chest. The last time he'd felt this way was a while ago...Lila...he'd never seen her again. But it was just another transcendence-case, just an imaginary feeling in a dangerous situation. This feeling was designed to strengthen the bound between him, the designated saviour and the person to save. A bit like a motherly protection reflex. He told himself that very firmly but still couldn't ignore that _motherly_ wasn't at all how he felt about her. Nevertheless he had to focus, FOCUS. He still had a job to do.

"Could you tell me how Thomas approached you?"

Ashley took a while to answer. It probably wasn't the nicest thing to remember.

"I was on my way back from the public swimming pool, I swam there every Wednesday. I was almost home when I heard steps behind me. I started to walk faster but then it all goes black. He'd hit me with something. When I woke up I was tied to some bar in his car. I had heard of two girls being abducted and found dead, I was pretty sure he'd been the one doing it and then I started talking"

"What did you say?"

"Something like: 'I know what you want to do to me, you filthy motherfucking son of a bitch but it won't do you any good, in the end you'll still feel empty and then you will have to get another one and another one until the cops catch you and you spent the rest of your life in prison. It will never stop, I will not satisfy you, no one will' I thought he would crash a tree with the car, the way he looked at me, it was like he was the one tied up and _he_ was afraid of _me. _We drove a long time, about two hours into the dark and he didn't say anything. I said some more things, about rapists and just stuff that came to my mind, I...improvised because I saw what it did to him. When we arrived at this farm he put me in that wooden box and the rest you already know"

Spencer Reid had not once in his career heard of something like this and this girl in his arms; she'd been through all of that, she was so strong, such a fighter, such a...miracle. But her voice had changed along with her story, even more of her pained soul broke free as she retold her story, the memory raising all the ghosts she had buried within herself.

"Where is he now?", he needed to know how much time they had, when he would have to let go of her to get moving, as much as he hated the thought of leaving her unsupported. Now he held her tightly, he didn't feel that he could let go so easily any more.

"He's out. He does the job on the last girl, he won't be back until tomorrow night, he takes his time. I always cry when he's gone because I know what he's doing to them."

And then he felt her change posture, suddenly she gave him more of her weight, letting go of her muscles tension, leaning onto him completely and then her body was shivering and he could hear her sob.

She was crying in his arms.

"I'm so scared, Spencer", she mumbled, "do you think you can safe us?"

It was the only wish of someone who had stopped hoping for rescue, he, Spencer, was the only hope there was left for her.

"I will try or die trying, Ashley", whispered back and knew that it was the truth. Both that he would try with all his might to get them both out of there and that he would die if he didn't succeed. She sighed but didn't stop weeping. There was nothing he could do but wrap her more tightly into his arms and he did. He began to rock her a little, his mind consumed with that one goal: to console her, to make the pain go away, to safe her. The only and devastating question was: How?


End file.
